We were told that the training for the FDNY’s emergency medical service would be paramilitary. For the 50 of us accepted into the FDNY’s elite EMS program, selected from hundreds of applicants, things would be different than they had been at the private ambulance services most of us had come from.

We were told about uniform inspections and hair pinned above the collar and working in platoons, and remembering to say “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir.”We were told that if an officer – anyone wearing a white shirt instead of blue – entered the room, that the first person to see him had to shout “Officer on deck!” and everybody had to rise and stand at attention. But I guess I didn’t really get it.

After my first day at the FDNY EMS Training Academy at Fort Totten, I got it.

“On your feet! Officer on deck!” Lieutenant Stitch barked, walking five paces into the room and looking around. “I can’t believe this!” He pointed to the two unfortunate guys by the door. “How could I have gotten this far into the room without you and you announcing me? You saw me coming! Officers will not be disrespected! You! Mulligan! Am I wearing a white shirt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does a white shirt mean?”

“Officer, sir.”

He put his face right up to Mulligan’s.”Then why didn’t you announce that there was an officer on deck?”

Mulligan was speechless. “I…um…I,”

“‘I, um, I?’ I have never seen a more pathetic looking group than you! You look like you should be on the street! You look like we should be picking you up on an intox! You are all officially on my shit list, and you, Mulligan, are right there on top! Have I made myself clear?” “Yes, sir!” we all shouted in unison.

After that, it went smoothly.

Yes, it’s partly an act meant to get the younger cadets to look sharp, to learn how to follow simple rules before being given the privilege of showing initiative with critical patients in a crisis situation – which is ultimately what the FDNY EMS wants from us, once we prove we’re capable of it. The psychology behind Academy training is about learning to withhold personal opinion until you have something worth saying. The FDNY doesn’t want its ranks to blindly follow orders; it wants self-motivated people who can think on their feet. But this doesn’t come overnight.

Despite any experience we may have on the street with private ambulance companies, we’re rookies here, and if we’re smart, we’ll understand this means we know very little. The FDNY handles 1.5 million emergency calls a year. (Chicago, the next busiest city in America for emergency calls, handles only 400,000 a year.) It’s the finest and most prestigious emergency medical service in the world. I will hold my tongue. I will shut up and listen.

“Work with us, and you’ll come through,” Lt. Stitch barks.”Be a wiseass, and believe me you will not last.”

Fort Totten, the federal military base where the FDNY EMS houses its Bureau of Training, sits in a posh area of Queens right on Little Neck Bay. The base itself is beautiful, with winding roads, tall trees, and old brick buildings in various stages of disrepair, some with ivy growing on them – some with ivy growing in them, right through the broken windows. Distracted from my books, I gaze at a two-story Colonial with peeling paint and a sagging back porch whose steps are just shy of the water.

The FDNY had originally wanted to move its entire training locale from Randalls Island to Fort Totten, but the neighborhood didn’t want smokehouses and fire trucks in their backyard, so only EMS is here, along with the NYPD’s K-9 Training Unit. Every now and then I hear shots fired as a new shipment of dogs is acclimated to the sound.

“Gunshots,” I tell Moncrieff, the young guy who sits next to me in class, but he’s looking ahead at the schedule.The first two weeks are to be a refresher course, re-certifying us as EMTs with the state. Our class of 50 will be doing in two weeks what it took us six months to do in our original EMT classes.

After that, for the following six weeks, we’ll be split into four smaller platoons, each group going through Operations Lectures, where we learn the rules and bylaws of the FDNY EMS, compiled into a 3-inch-thick ring binder full of sections and subsections; HazMat Awareness training, where we learn about mass casualty incidents, chemical and biological weapons of mass destruction, and how to treat nerve gas attacks; EVOC, the Emergency Vehicle Operator’s Course; Scenario Practice, where we have to act out physically, in real time, how we would assess, treat, and transport patients in various emergency conditions; and Rotations, where we get to ride along on an actual ambulance in the field.

“Hey Moncrieff,”I say,still unused to calling people by their last names. “Are you scared to death?”

But before he can answer, roll is called, and we’re shoving books into knapsacks and lining up at Quartermaster, where the FDNY fits its ranks, both from fire suppression and EMS, with uniforms and gear. Fifty of us are outfitted with duty shirts, trousers, belts, boots, dress shoes, hats, white gloves, work gloves, summer shirts, sweatshirts, duty jackets, and turnout coats, all in four hours. As usual, the level of organization is outstanding. Time is military here, and minutes are rationed.

Our day starts at 0700 hours and we’re expected to be early. If you’re on time, you get looked at disparagingly. If you’re late, it counts as half an absence. Four absences and you get escorted off the base. The Academy has no qualms about kicking students out. If you can’t be on time to class, how can you be on time to a call for a cardiac arrest, where minutes mean lives?

Lunch is 1100-1130 hours, but during those 30 minutes we have to eat, change into our phys-ed gear, and make any phone calls we need to, as cell phones are not permitted during on-duty hours. And we are on-duty, paid full salary while attending the Academy. Likewise, we can be deployed at any moment. I hope we won’t be since, only a day into our training, we would be a sorry version of EMS indeed. But we’re available, if manpower is needed.

Inside the Quartermaster’s fitting room, I try on the standard-issue red gym gear. It swims on me. Size S apparently means small weight-lifters. I take it off and bring it to the man at the counter.

“And?” he asks, not looking up.

I sigh. “It fits fine.”

He stamps my papers RECEIVED and I take everything home in a plastic bag, leaving only my blue uniform shirts to be embroidered with my last name. Driving off the base, I watch out for the wandering flocks of geese. They are guests at Fort Totten, and are not to be squished. I, however, may still be. It’s only the first day, and already I feel overwhelmed.